


Amnesia: Sniper/Spy

by devastatedcoconut



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mild violence, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devastatedcoconut/pseuds/devastatedcoconut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you cope when the one you love has no memory of who you are?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone, but--

I wake up, and I am in hell.

It is just like any other day. I dress, shave, don my mask, eat. I walk through endless white corridors and touch stone, vaguely aware of myself. There are shapes that wander past my vision and sometimes there are sounds… but mostly there aren’t.

Outside. The sun is shining, the sky is an awful blue. Everything seems far too big and at once too small, and I shield my eyes from it. Why am I here? Why are any of us here, really? Is there any point in defying death when the things that make life worth living are forbidden to us?

I find his van, his van, and there is already a sharpness in my throat. It has been a long time since I’ve felt–felt anything so visceral for someone, and of course it is him, of course I am losing my mind over a man I kill for someone else’s pleasure. I think I might not make it, but I’m knocking on the door, my heart is in my throat.

He answers, and for a fleeting moment we are still together, still lovers, still promised to one another. We have dreams, a fantasy of what our life will be outside this dreadful place, still kiss quietly and share simple touches that always mean so much more…

“You again.”

My heart breaks.

“Told you last time, you–you should clear off.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t know me, spook.”

“Au contraire. I know everything about you. I know everything–”

He slaps me, and it surprises both of us. The sting is the most real sensation I’ve felt besides my own crippling misery, for him it seems something he already regrets.

“Dont–don’t. Don’t say that.”

“That I love you? I can’t help it.”

His eyes flash dangerously, but there is clear uncertainty there. Perhaps he is troubled by the conviction in my voice, perhaps by the dark, dark circles beneath my eyes. I can only imagine what he’s thinking… even at our closest, he was always unreadable when he chose to be.

“I… I’m not playin’ games any more, Spy.”

“You can use my name,” I whisper. “You’ve known it long enough…”

“I don’t remember any ‘f what you’re talking about!”

“Let me in. Let me help you see–”

“Stop it.” He bars me with an arm, and this time there is an edge to his voice nearing panic. “If anyone caught you here–we’re not even s'posed to be talking, you understand that?”

“I understand. But I love you. You love me…”

“I’m closing this door.” He steps back and begins shutting himself in, trying to sound firm. “If you have any sense, you’ll–you’ll stop coming here. I mean it.”

My chest is hollow enough that I feel the click of his camper door reverberate through me. There’s another–his lock–and the sound of a wracking sob, just one. Numbness spreads from the recesses of my brain to my fingertips, the pit of my belly, and I feel rain on my face. Rain when there isn’t a cloud in the sky…

I wake up, and I am in hell.

…It is just like everywhere else.


	2. --not forgotten

Find him smoking up in the nest. There’s no one else about–’s around the time everyone turns in anyway–and it’s dark, apart from the tip of his cigarette.

He’s sat by the window. There’s no moon tonight, but I can still see half his face–masked, ‘course–from the light of an oil lamp he’s brought. No idea where he’d find something like that here… but I wouldn’t put it past him to’ve sneaked something on base without anyone knowing. Sneaks past me hundreds 'f times a day, after all.

I half expect him to bolt when I get close, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He’s got this vacant look on him, and I don’t like it. Don’t like the way he holds himself, like he’s got nothing to stand up for, and I don’t like it when he talks to me on the field when we’re in a fight–French, never English now, and it’s always so soft and so bloody sad…

I get to about three inches away from his elbow, and that’s when he finally realises I’m there, which is another thing that sits like a cold lump in my gut. I’d never have got close before, he would’ve seen me a mile away–smelled me first, probably–would’ve said something. He looks up at me and his eyes are the worst… they’re blue, and it’s the kinda blue I like, but they’re deep and sunken, like the bottom of a well.

The back 'f my neck prickles. He’s fallen so far, so hard…

“I–I had a dream about you.”

“Oui?” He cracks the smallest, saddest smile you’ve ever seen, and stubs out his cigarette t'turn towards me. “Quel était-il?”

I’ve never heard French like his before. Our Spy speaks it, 'course, but coming from him it’s different. Maybe because the intent isn’t the same, or something, but it always sends a waterfall 'f heat down my back–and sometimes the front–whenever I hear him… anything from him.

“Know I can’t understand you when you talk like that…”

“My apologies, cher. What was your dream about?”

No need t'tell him how broken he sounds… it hits me right where it shouldn’t, and it hurts. More than that, it aches. “You. Just–just you. I was me, and you were you, and we–it was–”

His mask crinkles when he smiles, this time. “I dream about you, too. Often.”

“I felt something. Like–like something’s trying t'pick a lock inside my head, like there’s always been more between us…" I feel my face get all hot and I’m sure I look a damn fool… but the change in him is so sudden I keep going. "You–I’m–is this making any sense t'you?”

His brow wrinkles up, and that gets my head going until I’m swaying on my feet and the whole room’s a blur. I’ve never told him he’s gorgeous, never held his hand so tight I could feel his pulse, never–never kissed him like I couldn’t breathe and he was air. I’ve never run my hands down his naked body or held him close like that, never whispered to him about how much I want him or I need him, how much I bloody love him…

His hands are on my cheeks and he’s staring right at me, into me. I’m gonna collapse.

“Vous souvenez-vous? You–do you remember?”

“I… I don’t know, spook.”

“You know, you know. You must…”

“I think–Jesus Christ.” My throat’s sore. “I think I love you.”

We’re kissing, and the world’s steady under my feet.


End file.
